


I Hope.

by Kethys



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kethys/pseuds/Kethys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No way! No fucking ways!" I yell, thrashing again, trying to push him away. However it’s useless and I feel the thin material wrap around my wrists, forcing me back into the brick wall. He shoves hard and my cheek begins to sting as the taste of blood is tang in my mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hope.

"You think chocolate solves everything," Mello's voice is cold and condescending. I want to argue with him;  but, we've have been at this for an hour now and I'm getting tired. Every time it gets harder to talk to Mello;  his words are often piercing and manipulative.

He keeps going through the television channels and he never really settles on anything, the channels flipping by too fast to process what is on the screen. The side of his face, which is covered in gauze, is pointed towards me almost accusing me of something. Each night when I change the bandages on his face I have to listen to Mello scream and cures obscenities.  
  
Once upon a time Mello thrived on action, now every day he spends his time at home, watching the television, or cleaning and reloading his gun. He tells me he can't leave the house because there are people out their looking for him. I don’t dare suggest to Mello that I think he is afraid. I once tried to tell him that it was okay to be scared.

…I still have the scars where he pressed his cigarette butt into my skin and yelled at me that there was nothing he feared. Nothing.

"I'll buy the most expensive bar." My response was void of any emotion.

"You don’t get it Matt. I don't care." He leaves the television on a channel about finding God, grabs his gun, and slams the bedroom door behind himself. He acts like he doesn't care, but I know better than that. Grabbing my vest I head for the door knowing that chocolate will make him feel better.  
  
It's colder than it should be for September weather and I slide my hands into the vest pockets to count the spare change, hoping it will be enough, not wanting to have to return for more money. By the time I conclude I have exactly  $5.56 in loose change, I feel pressure on my arm, and the cold brick wall against my cheek, as I'm forced against a building. Quickly, I am plunged into darkness, as the sun sets over the building tops. The only light is the flickering from the streetlamp on the deserted road just out of eyesight. The cold metal presses against my neck and a sultry, yet sickly sweet voice whispers in my ear. 

"You scream and I cut you. I can fuck you dead or alive."  
  
I jerk when I hear the sound of a zipper being undone and can’t stop myself from kicking when a hand comes round to undo mine. I swing my hand around hard and feel it connect to the soft flesh. He spits out blood, or saliva, or maybe both. It's too dark to see. While he’s temporarily preoccupied I fumble with my pants, before abandoning the futile task and attempt to make a break for the fleeting light.

He laughs, his breath causing me to shiver involuntarily. I grip his arms and struggle to pull him off. As my fingers brush along his arms, I feel ridges, slightly raised skin. My heart stops for a moment as panic washes over my body.

"No way! No fucking way!" I yell, thrashing again, trying to push him away. However it’s useless and I feel the thin material wrap around my wrists, forcing me back into the brick wall. He shoves hard and my cheek begins to sting as the taste of blood is tang in my mouth.

"I like when they squirm," he whispers, his breath hot against the nape of my neck.

He jerks my pants down and I feel them pool around my ankles. The fabric from my boxers is ripped open and I feel the sting of the cold September air hitting my warm flesh. Then my mind shuts down when I feel him press his weeping cock against my thigh, and when he moans, I can taste the bile in my mouth, stinging my tongue. I can't think. Can't feel. Can't  _breathe_.

Mello. 

I try to focus my thoughts on happy thoughts of the blond waiting back at home for me. I recall times spent at the beach, the park, and the burned down hotel where we often slept. But I can feel the man behind me grunting, pushing inside me. I feel raw. Split open. Abandoned.

He's panting, moaning just above my ear. The noises he is making are obscene. I can't focus anymore. Everything is moving quickly and yet not moving at all. My head is jerked back, tuffs of red hair in his tight grasp. And then the cold metal against my back. It is only when the knife is plunged into my skin, creating deep slices of flesh, that my mind snaps awake. I cry out, Or at least I think I do. I can't hear anymore. Can't see. Still can't think. I can only feel. Feel the pain as the knife is dragged over my skin. Over and over.

   
He snarls and then laughs as the knife drops to his feet. He raises his hand and I flinch, but he almost tenderly traces his fingers along the shape in my back. No, not shape. I try to focus. To make out the fuzzy image in my mind.   
  
B…

Due to the pain searing in my back I had almost forgot the about the way his hips thrust rhythmically into me until I'm being filled. Filled with his vile and disgusting fluid. Then the vomit comes, spilling onto the wall in front of me. 

When he’s finished using my body he jerks out and cleans himself up. He grabs my hair again and drags my weak body towards the street.  From the barely illuminated street lamp he strikes an odd resemblance to...

"Next time, I'll kill you,” then he's gone.

At first I don't think I can move. As I try, my legs give out and I fall back down again, crumping onto the empty street. The streetlamp flickers, ready to give out at minute threatening to plunge me into darkness once more. I manage to drag myself up and hold steady feet before slowly making my way back home.  

"Mello?" I call out, closing the door quietly behind myself. He's on the couch again and only turns his head slightly. There's dried blood and vomit clinging to my face and the stench of sex clings to my body. He turns his head to stare. Just stares. I want to cry. It's pathetic and weak, but I want to cry.

"Get out." His words hit me hard. Stinging and I drop my arms. 

"Mello, I didn't... no!" But he's on his feet and has the fur on my bloody vest in his trembling hands.

"I gave you everything! Fucking shelter, food, sex!" But I don't understand what he's talking about, or why he's yelling. Why his whole body is shaking. Or why mine is. He continues to scream and I close my eyes.

"Get the fuck out Matt! Get the fuck out!!"  
  
And I do.  
  
And I don't know where I'm going, but I know Mello can't live without me. I know this.  
  
I hope.


End file.
